You Are Safe
by Cowpuppy
Summary: Years down the road, Paige and Emily deal with the repercussions of Paige's kidnapping at Lyndon's hands. One-Shot. Emily's POV. Originally published on tumblr.


_This was originally posted on tumblr, but I guess I may as well post it here, too._

* * *

_I run but suddenly it's like everything is in slow motion. My legs weigh a million pounds and I can barely move. She's ahead of me, running away from me, her hair bouncing behind her. The ground shakes and I turn, and all I can see are the lights bearing down on me._

I drum my fingers on the counter as I wait for the coffee to brew. I hear her moving around the kitchen behind me, preparing her breakfast. I haven't spoken to her this morning and I wonder if she's noticed. She must have. When the alarm went off and she rolled over beside me, I was already wide awake, just watching her. She looked peaceful. I'm glad; sometimes she wakes with a start in the middle of the night, her dreams plagued always by the same shadowy face, the same whispered threats. She doesn't always wake me up when that happens, though I wish she would. I guess I'm a hypocrite, though, because I don't wake her when the same thing happens to me.

The coffee's done and I pour myself a cup. I feel better almost instantly, the caffeine washing over me like a wave. I'm not usually this bad in the morning but that dream always sets me on edge. I have a lot of bad dreams, but I know how to deal with most of them. I know how to handle my own danger. It's just this one dream that gets me every time.

I join her at the table and she smiles and pushes my breakfast towards me as I pass over her mug of coffee. Our fingers brush and I love that I still feel that tingle when she touches me, even after all this time. My lips curl upward and she holds my gaze as long as she can, a spark dancing in her eyes, before she has to let her head fall. She makes me feel like she can't handle just how much she wants me, and of course it just makes me want her more, and my stomach flutters and if we didn't have our jobs to go to, I'd give her everything she wants and more.

She's chanced another look up at me and caught me staring, and now she's bold, leaning in and bringing me in for a kiss. It's soft and slow, her thumb whispering over my cheek, and I shift my chair over because we're at an awkward angle, and it doesn't stop her for a second because we've long since figured out how to adjust to those little awkward moments.

We pull away and her eyes are sparkling. "I love you," she says, her voice raspy as she whispers. She doesn't need to whisper; it's just the two of us in our apartment, but I whisper, too, as I reply. It's for her, only for her, when I say, "I love you, too." And I feel my heart thud in my chest because I've never meant it more than right now. It still feels momentous every time I say it.

I tuck a loose bit of hair behind her ear and she leans into my hand, letting it cup her cheek. Her ring catches the light, sparkling on my finger, and I remember the day she gave it to me, her eyes shining with hope and fear all at once. As if she ever needed to worry about my answer.

The moment ends; we're back to eating, chatting about the day to come, clearing the dishes, finishing up our preparations before we're out the door and off to our respective workplaces. My day passes in a blur. I'm productive, drowning out the static in my head with work. For a moment, as we sat at our table, I forgot about my worries, but as soon as she left my side they started creeping in again, itching at the edges of my thoughts. So I've been pushing them off, because I can't deal with them right now.

The dream I had… it's always the same. It's been coming to me since that time, since I saw her bound on a couch in a run-down cabin, duct tape over her mouth and her eyes wild with fear. So much happened that night; most of it is a blur. I was in a bad place, too, and Hanna was a wreck, and the last I saw of Paige was her watching me hold Hanna as she sobbed and sobbed into my shoulder. She was hurting so much, too, and despite it all she covered for me, stepping in with the police so that I could go to my friend.

And that night, when I finally managed to close my eyes and drift to sleep, I had the dream.

_I've been chasing her all night. She has somewhere to go, somewhere to be, and it keeps changing. "I need to get to Philly," she says, not looking at me. Then, later: "I need to go to my house." Every time she changes her destination, she takes off, running for her car or for the bus or for a train. Sometimes we're in Rosewood and sometimes we're in the city. Wherever we are, it's all a blur, because she's running and I'm running after her, and we never seem to stop. When we do stop, in those few precious moments, her eyes are wild, darting about - just like they were in the cabin. She looks at me but she doesn't see me; she sees something else, Lyndon's face, maybe, or something darker. Maybe she just sees darkness and she can't find the light._

_At the end, she runs towards the train tracks. It's always the train tracks. I hear the train's whistle, loud and booming, but she doesn't, her long legs carrying her over the rusting rails without faltering. The train hurtles towards her; it's not going to stop. I want to call her name but what if she stops and turns around? She can't; she has to keep running. She's going to keep running if I have to push her along. So I run after her, and this is when my legs always seem to get caught, or when I trip, or when something happens to keep me from reaching her._

_It doesn't matter though, because she always gets away. She clears the tracks, hair flying behind her. She doesn't turn around but it's okay, because I know she's safe. And then I feel the train coming, and I turn to see it, and my eyes fill with two great saucers of light and in my mind I see her, back to me, on her way to wherever she was headed._

I wake up, then, every time. The very first time, my eyes shot open and I laid there in my bed, listening to myself breathe. Everything sounded loud; my breath sounded like thunder and the air conditioning pattered away like a rainstorm, though the night was dry and dusty. And all I could think, as I lay there, was that no matter where she runs, I'll follow. I'll follow, knowing that I might get hurt along the way, that taking care of her might mean running myself into the ground. But it's okay. It will always be okay, as long as I can see her make her way to safety. If I see her clear the tracks, eyes fixed ahead of her, then I'll meet the train head-on.

When we get home, she's already brought dinner with her. I'm glad, because I don't feel like making it. We usually make it ourselves, though, so I wonder if she saw something in my face this morning, even though I'm sure I hid it well. I suppose when it comes to her, I can't hide anything. She sees through me every time. But if she noticed anything, she's not letting on; we eat dinner and act like everything's normal. It's nice. It's always nice, but right now this is all I need.

We settle in to watch television afterward, cuddling on the couch. I don't know what we're watching. Some police procedural. I'm not paying attention because I'm enjoying the feeling of her warm body beside me, her arm around my shoulder as I curl into her. Her fingers trace lazy circles on my shoulder, and the glass of wine she poured for me is warm in my stomach.

I'm drifting off to sleep when I feel her muscles tighten beneath me. I look at her face and it's white as a sheet, her eyes riveted on the television. I follow her gaze and see what's bothering her: a kidnapped girl, her hands and feet bound, her mouth gagged. I turn the TV off as fast as I can and turn her towards me, finding her eyes with my own. Pale as she is, despite the fear I feel beneath my fingers, the first thing she does is crease her eyebrows and reach up a hand to touch my cheek.

"Did you have the dream again?"

She really does know me too well.

"How did you know?" I ask.

She shrugs, smiles. "Em, I always know."

It's true. I didn't tell her about the dream, at first. We hadn't been dating that long and even I hadn't realized, until that moment, alone in the dark with the sound of my breaths and the rainstorm in my air conditioner, just how much I cared about her. How much I loved her. It took me a while to say those very words to her - I wanted to hear her say them first. And when she did, somehow I couldn't say them back. By the time I told her, we both knew that it was love, and love of the forever variety. Not long after we started spending nights together, I woke with my eyes wide, as usual. She lay beside me in the darkness, her heavy breaths mingling with mine, and I thought she was asleep. Her face was hidden in shadow. I reached out a hand, the tips of my fingers just touching her lips, and a car drove down the street outside, the light from its headlights rolling through the room just long enough to dance across her face and shine in her open eyes.

As the light dimmed and darkness fell around us again, she spoke.

"Are you okay?"

I could hear the worry in her voice; I must have been tossing and turning as I dreamed.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Em, you're not. Talk to me."

Did she know she was quoting herself? She'd said those same words to me another time, in another place, even though I was with another girl then. She's always cared about me, always worried about me, even when she's the one in danger.

So I told her about the dream, tears welling up in my eyes. And she held me and said that it was okay. That she loved me. And that she'd never leave me behind.

Worried as I was about her, she always found a way to worry about me. And she's doing it now, a frown on her face even though she's the one pale as a ghost. And as much as I would love to be comforted, she's not going to get away with it today. As much as that dream shakes me, every time, it helps me, too. I reach into myself and find that feeling, the one that floods over me as I stand in front of the train and watch its inexorable approach. It doesn't matter what happens to me; I have to take care of her.

"I did," I say, and her mouth falls open to speak but I lean in and stop her with a kiss.

"Are you okay?" I ask when I pull away. She doesn't want to answer; she's so good at being the protector but she's never known how to play the one who needs protecting. But I know she needs to let go, and I have to let her let go, as much as it hurts, as much as it tears down the flimsy walls we build around ourselves to make ourselves believe that we're both all right.

And the walls come crashing down, tears in her eyes as she curls up, fingers clawing into my shirt. I wrap her in my arms and pull her close, letting her cry as much as she needs.

"It's okay," I whisper, over and over. "It's okay."

"It's okay?" Her voice is feeble, mumbled into my shoulder.

"It's okay. You're safe."

"I'm safe."

"You're safe. I love you."

She pulls away, tears like crystals in the corners of her eyes, and I wipe them away with my thumb. "I love you," I say again. "I love you so much."

She searches my face, stares into my eyes. They're wide, glittering, and afraid, but they're not wild anymore. She sees me and I see her.

"I love you, too," she says. She smiles. Just a little smile, but it's enough. She smiles, and buries her head in my neck again, and I hold her and rock her and tell her over and over: she's okay, she's safe, and I love her.

She'll always be okay, as long as I'm with her. I'll always keep her safe. I'll always love her. Most days, she won't need me, not like this. Even now, these moments grow further apart; she heals every day. It will always be with her, and that's okay, because I'll always be by her side to help her, no matter what she needs. I'll always run after her. I will always run in front of that train, just to make sure she finds her way to the other side. I'll face what comes, surrounded by the light, because as long as she's okay, I know that I'll be all right.

* * *

_I wrote this as a means of exploring some really heavy stuff that I was dealing with. In the span of a few days I experienced what was probably the most terrifying moment of my life. The woman I love came face to face with the demons that had been chasing her for years - and all I could do was hold her and tell her that she would be okay. I felt powerless. I didn't know what was going to happen. I wrote this in the eerie calm that followed, partly for me but for her, too. It's not the same situation, but every emotion is real. I hope you gleaned something from this - be it enjoyment or understanding or something else. Just remember to take care of yourselves, and if you find someone who makes you feel safe or who you would do anything to keep safe, never let that person go._


End file.
